


Blood Brothers

by Ravenousfire



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Dresden Files References, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27842002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenousfire/pseuds/Ravenousfire
Summary: This is a work based upon the Universe as created by Jim Butcher.  The main characters will be new, but some references to existing characters and time frames will be used.  Potential cameos from established Butcher characters as well.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Old Ways

\--The Dresden Files is copyright Jim Butcher. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction.--

I had done twenty hours of work, shaping the metal back and forth into spiraling patterns of silver and gold. It was an intricate thing, only about the size of a drink coaster, but I could feel the small threads of power that were slowly coming together, entangling one over the other at neat geometrically and magically significant points. I was folding the last thread, gently caressing the metal into place with my pliers and lacing the filament with whispers of will, when there was a thunderous bang, screeching tires, and the sound of metal scraping along metal. My hand holding the pliers jerked with my surprise, just a fraction of an inch off and touched the golden spiral but not at the correct geometric point.

“Aw…hell...” I whispered, staring at the little sigil like a grenade whose pin had been pulled.

I felt the magical lines coalesce and spiral over and over again growing in strength as they fed into each other in what amounted to a magical feedback loop. I threw the metal circle across the room and dove to the floor. There was a puff of smoke and a flash of light, and the smell of ozone filled my shop.

“Ah, dammit…I am going to kick someone’s ass…” I said into the concrete floor.

I sprang up to my feet and ran over to check the metal work. It was a flaming pile of ruin in the corner and I stomped out the fire with my boots. I was walking back to grab the hot metal after retrieving my tongs when the door to my shop burst in, a man stood there for a moment with a gun in one hand and a small cream-colored bag; a canvas shopping bag maybe. He slammed the door behind him. It took about twenty seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior of my shop. There was only a small amount of natural light coming from the upper windows, and the embers of the forge I had been using to create the metalwork.

His eyes tracked around and landed on me standing there in the corner with the tongs and the gun came up.

“You! I need a place to hide, now or I will blast your ass! Right here, right now!” His eyes darted around the room.

“Not very nice of you to barge into my place, pull that hog-leg on me and make demands son.” I replied. My tone was cool, even thought I could feel the anger rising in my gut. I don’t like having a gun pulled on me, and I don’t like being threatened. I also didn’t want to be shot so I pushed down on my anger and kept control of my voice.

“I am not your damn son! Now let’s find a hiding place old man.”

“Drop whatever it is you got there.” He stalked forward with the gun aimed at my face. His eyes were wide, and his movements were jerky like an animal trapped in a corner. Animals trapped in a corner were notoriously dangerous, and humans trapped in a similar fashion were no different.

“They’re called tongs…” I replied matter-of-factly.

“Who gives a fuck!” It was a statement, not a question.

He jammed the muzzle against the back of my head as I slowly laid the tongs on the ground and pushed me forward with the bag in his left hand.

“Move, old man, get us in the house.” He hissed.

The slow drone of sirens could be heard in the distance, and he put more force into the next shove that sent me forward into garage side door. I opened it, thinking about how long it would take before the police would arrive, and whether I would have to deal with this goon before they got here, or if I could wait it out. I opened the door and stepped out into the late afternoon light. It was November in Nevada and the sun was low. Golden streaks passed through the small grove of pines to the west, casting mottled patterns of alternating light and shadow all along the driveway. I looked out into the road as we passed from the garage to the steps to the house. A head on collision had been the sound from earlier. A red pickup, maybe a Chevy with a twisted front end sat in the road, steam hissing out of the busted radiator. A smaller car, one of those hybrid types I think, had its front end spun away from me and sat halfway across the road. I could see the lump of the driver as a dark shape in the front seat, and a small shape protruding up against the backseat made me pause…a child’s car seat…

This bastard had hit someone head on, with a baby in the car…

“Stop stalling and get in the goddamn house!” He yelled and smashed the gun hard against my head. I staggered, stars blazed in my vision and the blossom of pain in my skull shot though me and made me queasy.

“No.” I said firmly. The pit in my stomach grew, an ember of anger growing into a white hot flame. “You are going to help me get the people out of that car…or else…”

“Or else what?! I will blow your fucking brains out!” He pulled the gun back to hammer me over the head with it again.

I planted my left foot, gathered up a burst of will, and used the steady power of the earth to anchor me to the ground while I lashed out with a right mule kick from hell. He staggered backward the gun barking out as he reflexively pulled the trigger.

I drew in a breath of will and growled “Chorde Calor!” and pointed at the gun. A stream of what looked like molten rope coalesced from the end of my index finger and shot out snapping three times around the barrel of the gun. With an effort of will I tightened the strands and crimped the barrel enough to block it. The heathen didn’t even flinch as the gun barrel started to glow red. I could see the pain in his face as the heat began to burn his hand, but he struggled against the magical lariat and held fast. I couldn’t hold it for long, the fire and force together were draining me, and he jerked the gun up with two hands now straining against me.

His eyes looked straight at me, and for an instant I thought about holding him in a soul gaze which might paralyze us both for a second and maybe give me time…but it was risky and probably not advisable as a stalling tactic. But before I could lock him in, he averted them at the last possible second and yanked the gun up and level with my face.

“Die! You mutant freak!” He screamed.

I didn’t say anything back, just stared at him. I ducked away as he squeezed the trigger and the pistol shattered. He screamed as the gun came apart and shot small pieces of shrapnel around. He dropped the ruined pistol and that's when I rushed him. He was startled, not expecting me to bulldoze him and I tackled him hard against the wall of the garage. I slammed three shots into his ribs in quick succession. He swung at me and I slipped it, then head-butted him in the nose. I was tired of this scumbag, and I needed to get those people out of that car, so I clinched him and hammered two good knees into his face.

He slumped to the ground and I stumbled to a trot and got to the car. My head was pounding and I felt the spinning sickness of vertigo, but I was able to make it out to the street and yank open the front door of the small car. It had come open in the accident which was lucky, otherwise I’d need something like heavy hydraulic gear to get it open. I took out my pocket knife and cut the seatbelt off the driver and pulled her free. She was a tanned skinned woman, about five-six and fit, dark hair bound up in a mom’s ponytail. I checked her pulse; she was alive. I tried to pull her out without moving her head around too much, I didn’t want to injure her neck if I could help it. I laid her carefully down in the driveway and went back for the car seat. The baby was unconscious, but breathing. I could see the rise and fall of his chest. I tried to reach him from the front seat, but the seats were twisted up too much for me to get him out, and the back doors were sealed shut from the impact. His little head was slumped over to the side, and smoke was beginning to build up in the front. He coughed involuntarily. There wasn’t much time. I needed to act quickly if I wanted to keep him from asphyxiating or burning up in that seat. I had never seen a car catch fire before, but it looked like this one was getting damn close.

I took my pocket knife and carved a small geometric pattern into the paint of the door near the hinges, and then drew quick crude circles around each one, closing the circles with an infusion of will. The pain in my head was keeping me from concentrating, and I felt my gorge rising. I might have a concussion from the hit I had taken, but I couldn’t pass out…not with the kid in the car. I drew in as much will as I could handle and barked “Cortas!” The geometric patterns flooded with eldritch light and I felt the magic pour out of me into them. With a snap and a hiss the metal in the circles melted through and sheared off the hinges holding the back door on. Something in the front console and mirror hissed with sparks and popped as well. I took off my shirt and wrapped it around my hands and grabbed the twisted metal. I set my left boot squarely in the ‘v’ between the floor-board and the driver’s door, and heaved backward. I pushed with my boot and wrenched on the door trying to pull it free of the hinges. Metal screamed in protest and then broke free. I went back and the door came with me, unceremoniously dumping me on my ass in the middle of the street.

I pushed aside the door, struggled up, and staggered over to the back seat. I pushed the button on the crash webbing and yanked the harness free. The smoke was starting to sting my eyes and I choked. The boy was light and limp, and he came free easily. We backed out of the rear seat and I stumbled with him toward the driveway. The sirens were closer now, the wailing warble advancing up the hill toward the house. We were about thirty feet away but I thought it was still too close so I brought the boy over and gently laid him down in the sand of the front yard. Then cradling the woman’s head, I slowly lifted her under both arms and drug her a bit further from the crash.

I sat down on the ground and then laid down, my head was spinning wildly now. I didn’t think the blow to the head should have made me this dizzy…but a concussion and the use of magic together can really compound problems if a wizard isn’t careful. Plus I wasn’t as spry as I was in my youth.

“Look at you.” Said a familiar voice. The voice had a note of playfulness and surprise.

“I thought that you had sworn off the hero business after that last time…but maybe you are getting senile in your old age…hrmm? Maybe, you are ready for your comeback? One last fight for Rocky? To be honest, I never thought you’d have it in you. Maybe you do, maybe you don’t…” The voice tittered in my skull.

"Wonder if you have enough juice in the tank for one last lesson?” I turned my head to the side and sitting not five feet away was Coyote. Not ‘a coyote’…but Coyote, the Navajo trickster god. The swirl of chaotic magic about him filled up my senses. His presence was familiar, and I was a bit ashamed that I had not felt him until now.

“Don’t worry old boy, you had other things occupying your time. I didn’t want to distract you from the old ways…” Coyote barked a short laugh.

“You know I dislike anyone intruding into my head.” I told the lolling tongued canine.

“But what am I supposed to do Mathias…bark to you? Have you finally deciphered the dog language?! That is fantastic.” A series of yips and growls issued out of the coyote expectantly waiting a reply. After a moment when he did not receive a reply from me, he made a snort of frustration and paced around me. I heard the change from padding feet to crunching boots on the pavement.

“Well you got my hopes up for nothin…” A disappointed male voice said from my right. Coyote took his human form as easily as breathing...it had never ceased to amaze me what some of the beings of the Nevernever could do. “It’s nothin’ really…I could teach you.”

I growled. Turning to look at the human form Coyote, I saw that he was squatted down on his heels, next to the young boy. He ran a hand over the child’s head and then looked at the mother.

“Ok, ok…” He said waving me off. “The boy will be fine…the mother though…she’s busted up on the inside in a bad way.”

He trailed off. He looked intently at her for a moment.

“Can you do anything for her?” I asked.

“Not my area of expertise hombre, you know that. Changing Woman might be able, if she were here…but she isn’t.”

“Then call her dammit! Get on whatever passes for the celestial cell phone and get her here.”

“No can do.” He replied quietly.

“Can’t or won’t.”

“Cannot White-Hare.”

“Bull shit!”

He strode back toward where I was sitting in the gravel and stopped a pace or two away looking down at me under the brim of the dusty old cowboy hat he wore.

“When have I ever lied to you White-Hare?” He asked seriously.

“Uh, all the damn time Coyote, that’s what you do! You are a trickster god remember.”

A hint of a smile passed across his face and he nodded. He turned his head to look at the woman, and back at me.

“This time is different.” He said in low tone. “Changing Woman won’t come. She doesn’t hear the call…she is not in her Hogan.”

I frowned and my heart sank, but I remembered something. I staggered up to my feet and rambled over to the front door of my house. The screen door pulled open with a squeal from rusty hinges, ‘need to oil those’ passed briefly through my head, and I plowed on into the house. There on the mantle was something I needed. A small series of implements hung from the mantle and dangled above the fireplace alcove. There was a dream catcher (a real one not one of the ones people made in a factory), a necklace made of bear’s claws – grizzly, a sling and pouch which looked well-worn, and a small unassuming trinket on a cheap chain…a rabbit’s foot.

I tore it off the mantle and wound the chain around my right hand, and moved on into the kitchen. A big container of Morton’s salt sat on the table and I snatched it up as I looked around frantically for one other thing…it was sitting on the counter by the toaster where I had left it and I grabbed up the bottle with the silly looking honeybee with a ridiculous tongue lapping up honey from a comb. The label read ‘Danny’s Delicious’. It was a local honey from the Las Vegas area …and it really was delicious.

I got back outside and could hear the sirens rounding the bend, they were coming up the switchback when meant they were about a half a mile down the slope. They would be here in a minute, so I had to do the working quickly.

I stepped over the woman, opened the salt shaker and poured a bit of salt into her left hand with a glob of honey. I wasn’t a doctor by a far stretch, but I had lived a fairly long time and had seen things and learned things in that time. One thing I knew, was that if she had massive trauma she was probably bleeding internally and would die before the paramedics got her to the hospital. I was damn well going to do what I could to try and give her a chance. I had seen an old shaman do something similar in Africa once. He took some binding agents and created a link between the binding components and the leg of a man who had been stepped on by an elephant. The spell had kept the man’s leg together until they could get him back to the village. The shaman worked on him for five days to keep him from dying. But that first binding spell was what I had latched onto, and had used later in other…more gruesome circumstances…

The honey was thick and bound up the salt in her palm. I drew in several large breaths, I could feel the magic swell in as I gathered up my will and formulated the spell in my mind.

Thoughts of binding, tying, holding. Images of vessels with cracks sealing up and fixing were the things I kept swirling in my thoughts as I began a slow three word chant ‘Funga’ I exhaled will into the rabbit’s foot, ‘Funga’ I exhaled will into the salt, ‘Funga’ I exhaled will into the honey. I was getting light headed from the effort again and I placed the rabbit’s foot into the woman’s hand to close the spell. Three words and three agents, and the working loop was closed. Three was a sacred number in lots of religions around the world, and rightfully so, it was balanced, strong, precise, efficient, and elegant; just like a triangle. Lots of things were bound up in the number three, but what very few people knew was that multiples of three were also magically significant. Six for example was another such number. It was used, maybe less often and practiced with less, but still exceedingly useful for certain workings. In a few different religions it was the number for awakened mankind. The spirit, body, and mind of man being three and the three faceted face of the divine; creation, stasis, and entropy being the completion. Joined they represented the whole of man transcending mortal and mingling it with the divine.

I stepped back and sat down to try and keep from throwing up. My head was spinning now, and the lump on the back of my head where the bastard had pistol whipped me was throbbing through my skull. A police cruiser shot up the road and came to a halt on the road a little way from the crash and an officer leapt out. He pulled his gun, using his door as a shield and pointed it as me. I didn’t get a great look at him except for his blonde flat top and hard green eyes peering at me over the muzzle of his gun.

“Hands where I can see ‘em!” He ordered.

I looked at him annoyed. “What?! There are people who need help here! Put your damn gun away…”

“I SAID GET THEM UP!” he screamed at me.

Coyote spoke from behind me “Best do what he says hombre, he’ll probably shoot instead of asking again…”

“He didn’t ask the first time,” I protested and put my open palms in the air where the cop could see them.

“Now lay down on your face, and put your hands flat on the ground in front of you!” He said.

I did.

A knee on my back made me chuff out my wind and he grabbed each of my wrists in turn and cuffed them behind my back before pulling me off the ground.

“Geezus, what is your problem? Not enough donuts at the shop this morning? I have some Dunkin’ in the house if it will curb the rage…” I cracked-wise, though in retrospect it probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Shut it scumbag.” He said, jerking me up off the ground and pushing me toward his car. “You have the right to remain silent…”

Was this guy arresting me? What in the seven hells did this moron think I had done? I planted my face on the cop car as more emergency vehicles rolled up. The small car fully caught fire and began to blaze as the ambulance pulled up and they swung wide to avoid it and pulled into my drive, swarming out of all sides of the vehicle with the focused purpose of saving lives. That was a noble profession, even if it felt like just another day at work for the people doing it. There was a certain glow in the aura of people who worked to help others. It was almost like a tangible smell of hope, some light and airy smell that conjured images of life and security.

The cop holding me against the car, as much as I hated to admit it, had a bit of that same aura. I don’t know, sometimes people are complicated.

“Name.” The officer commanded.

“Matt du Monde.” I replied flatly.

“Do you have any weapons on you that I need to be aware of Mr. du Monde?”

“You’ll want to watch that one up front, I hear it’s lethal…” I thought if officer blondie was going to be a dick, I could at least help him along.

“Where is your ID?” He asked curtly. Guess he didn’t like the quip.

“It’s in the house, drawer by the sink on the right, just before you exit to the driveway on the side. It’s in my wallet.”

Another vehicle pulled up, it was the silver and blue of the NHP, the Nevada Highway Patrol, and it said in block print State Trooper on the side; two troopers got out and walked our way. Two more NHP vehicles blazed up the road and moved on around lights turning off as they did so, passing the house and going on around the hill. The firefighters arrived and started hooking up their equipment with practiced efficiency from their truck. It was a large red and white job with a ladder on top. They quickly went about their business of quelling the fire in the middle of the road. The acrid smoke roiled about and made breathing difficult for a while.

Officer Riley, 0035 I noted, put me into the back of his car and walked off into the house with one trooper who had come up, the other stood beside the open door with me. A few minutes later they came back out of the house with my wallet in hand.

“Satisfied?” I asked as the officer and the trooper reviewed my credentials. I looked up and out of the backseat of the cruiser toward the officers examining my license then my face.

“I told you, the other guy smashed into this car, jumped me in my shop with a gun and tried to kill me. When his gun backfired, I ran over to try to help with the accident. He was trying like hell to get me inside the house.”

“Riley, pull the cuffs off him, we know he isn’t the perp.”

Officer Riley complied with the Trooper and let me go. The cuffs had chaffed my wrists and I rubbed them trying to calm myself.

“Yeah after we struggled, he went down on the concrete and I thought I had knocked him out…” I explained to the officers. “There should be pieces of his gun and some blood from his nose over there. Just my luck he didn’t stay down.”

“There’s not much but scrub around the hills here, he wouldn’t have much to hide with…” Trooper, I had to crane my neck to see his badge. Trooper Alvares was saying to the other Trooper who had his back to me, and officer blondie.

Dogs would be the best bet, but I wasn’t really wanting to tell the officers how to do their job. I really didn’t want any more attention paid to me than was necessary. This was already an out of the ordinary day and I just wanted all of the stuff to move on along and out of my life. I was tired, and the knot on the back of my head and the weariness from the use of magic was making me tired. When I was tired I tended to get grumpy and lippy. Not the best combination for working with the police. I leaned against the front of the police cruiser with my arms crossed and thought. It had been almost a three quarters of a century since I had cast an evocation…and it took one hell of a bite out of me. I am glad everyone but my assailant was out cold, it was much easier that they hadn’t seen any of my workings…and if it hadn’t been for the immediate need, I wouldn’t even have done those. I swore off using power on that scale for a good reason and had kept a low profile from the White Council for a long…long time. A good number of them probably thought I was dead, and would be none too happy if they found out I was still around and potentially active again. Hopefully that little trinket they had would be long gone by now. Knowing my luck though, it was wrapped around the Merlin’s bony knuckles.

I pulled open the sleeve of my left arm and the brand there was a complex tangle of lines lapped over lines. Celtic knot work, a very special mark which was tied to another mark of the same design. Typically brands, scars, and other types of marring of a wizard’s flesh would heal over time and disappear. This however was not a normal scar or mundane brand. It was a magical seal and until dispelled it would not heal. I had taken the mark 73 years ago, as an assurance to someone I cared for that I would willingly lay down power. I had done so to protect people. I promised to keep all of my workings to that of a minor practitioner and to restrict those workings I might have to trinkets. The one that had exploded in my shop only about an hour earlier was one example.

I practiced minor imbuing of small talismans and sigils. Certain people in the magical community would come to me from time to time and request an item, maybe a protective charm or maybe a focal device of minor potency. Then there was the odd celebrity whose circle would hear about something I had done and think that I was an eclectic creator of objects to talk over at dinner parties. Rarely and I do mean rarely, someone with major magical talent would darken my door. I typically refused them, or sent them on their way to others who might help, or even would point them to the White Council. On the rarest of occasions I would create something of significant potency for a truly talented practitioner. It took me a long time and a lot of effort to imbue an item using the limited resources that would not set off the brand. So those items were quite expensive.

I could feel the itch of the brand and I knew that the amount of magic I had expended in the short amount of time had set off the spell-brand. Somewhere in the world the twin of my brand was ratting me out, telling someone that I had broken my word and that they should do something about it. I hoped that the small trinket had fallen into the depths of the sea, or into a cavern a mile deep, or lay buried in the grave of someone it had passed to. Maybe it lay buried deep in an attic somewhere or in a vault or lock box whose key had been stolen or lost. It probably wasn’t. My guess was a Warden was on the way at this very minute to extract some answers.

I hadn’t done a lot today and I was surprised how quickly I had tired at just the small efforts of will I had expended. In my younger days that wouldn’t have even made a dent. The magical gas tank like muscles could atrophy it seemed. That wasn’t something I had ever thought about. I had always looked at my magical talent and reservoir as a box whose capacity could ever widen but never shrink. Old wizards were the most powerful, except in my case it seemed. That was a thought that disturbed me. As much as I didn’t want to use my power as I had done when I was younger, it sparked something deep inside me to be upset with its loss. I wasn’t quite an old timer yet, but I wasn’t a spring chicken either. Having willingly set aside my power was one thing, but potentially not being able to call it up again was quite another. It was like being robbed of a sixth sense, or the use of my legs. There was a pit in the bottom of my stomach and I frowned at the ground.

“…we said you can go now Mr. du Monde…” Trooper Alvares was saying to me.

“Huh?” I shook my head out of reverie and focused on him. “What now?”

“We said you’re free to go. We don’t need anything more from you.” Alvares said.

“Where did they take the woman and the boy?” I asked.

“Why?” Alvares said turning to face me. I didn’t like his posture, it was that cop suspicious of something posture.

“Well, they were laid out in my driveway before the ambulance rushed them off, and I wanted to send them a get well card, maybe some flowers. When an asshole head-ons a mother and kid in my neighborhood I take offense Trooper Alvares, and since I did the work to get them out, I would like to know that they recovered…” My tone was measured, but firm. I looked him straight in the eye, the thing a man does to show another man he isn’t lying or keeping anything back. Thing is, when a wizard looks you in the eye, you get more than just a stare back.

The world swirled into the soul gaze and colors blurred. I saw flashes of images like an old movie reel flickering and I stood next to a rock surrounded by colored sand and patches of brown grass. No, it wasn’t a rock, it was a gravestone.

There was an old woman standing nearby. The movie kept playing, like one of those 1920’s silent movies…I remembered those fondly.

“He has an oath.” The old woman said. Her voice quavered a bit but it was gentle and kind. “You see, he does this to protect.”

Indeed, I could feel a quiet calm there in the center of Alvares’ soul. The old woman was a testament.

“Abuela?” I asked.

“Si.” She responded. “I am his grandmother. I gave him part of the obligation. His

grandfather also. He keeps us close, he is a good boy.”

“Yes ma’am.” I replied. I looked down at the gravestone. “Who’s is this?”

“His sister. He had the responsibility for her, and he let her down.” She said slowly, sadly. “She is the other part of his obligation, his duty, and his creed.”

“Understood. I needed to see him.”

“Si, you did. Are you satisfied?”

“I am. Gracias, Abuela.”

“De nada wizard.”

I was looking at the movie reel and snapped my eyes back to her when she said it. She looked firmly at me and I saw the faintest flicker of an aura when I studied her, but before I could ask her a question the movie reel started clicking on blank frames and the soul gaze ended.

Alvares took a reflexive step backward as the soul gaze broke. I stayed leaning against the car. He shook his head and stared back at me unflinching. “Come over to my vehicle Mr. du Monde.”

“You can call me Matt if you like.”

“Ok, Matt, step this way.”

He turned and walked over to his cruiser. The other trooper and officer blondie had started to examine the area where the guy and I had fought. They had produced some police tape from somewhere and were cordoning off the area between my shop and my house. Luckily, it seemed that they hadn’t witnessed the soul gaze.

“I am going to get the information for you”

“If you don’t mind Trooper Alvares, I will just stand a bit this way.”

“Why?” He asked. This time it was just curiosity.

“Let’s just say I’m not very good with electronics.”

“Matt…I would like to have a discussion with you after this.”

“I can give a statement, whatever you need.”

“No sir, not what I meant. I mean a personal one.”

“Oh,” I said. “About that?” I nodded to where we had just walked from.

“Si, and about this.” He tapped his forehead.

“Well, I am here most days, except when I’m not.”

He chuckled and radioed in the call. He gave me the name of the Hospital and the name of the woman and child. I took the little piece of paper he wrote on and stuffed it in my shirt pocket.

“Thanks Trooper…”

“Call me Miguel.” Alvares said.

“Thanks Miguel.” I replied.

“You done?” I jumped at the voice next to me. Coyote stood beside close by. I had forgotten he was there with all the arresting and such. “Want to know where he went?”

“What?”

“Do you… want to know… where he… went?” Coyote asked slowly, patronizingly spreading

the words apart.

“Why do I care?”

“Care about what?” Miguel had walked up behind me.

“Just thought you might want to know...” Coyote said scuffing his boot in the gravel.

“Sorry Trooper, I was talking to myself.”

“Well, you’re only crazy if you start answering yourself too.” Alvares said smiling. “If you want to go inside I think you’re good, but they are going to want to secure evidence from your driveway there between the house and garage.” He motioned to the area.

“No problem, I think I want to check around the back of the house, just to make sure everything is there.” I said.

“Ok, we’ll let you know if we need anything else from you Mr. du Monde.”

“Well, I’ll be around.” I said and started back to see what Coyote knew.


	2. Revelations

Coyote followed me around back, kicking rocks around as he walked and generally amusing himself with playful dance steps. He was dressed in faded jeans, well-worn with frays at the edges and small holes in the pockets. He had a button-down shirt on with a southwestern pattern embroidered into it, made from natural earthy colors. His features were unremarkable and he didn’t fit any real facial profile. His skin was ruddy as though he spent most of his time in the sun and his hair was a deep brown almost black with strands of what looked like blonde here and there. He had a carefree smile and eyes that glittered from under the old beat up leather cowboy hat he wore. From the hat dangled an eagle feather attached to a red and brown hatband.

“If you want to catch him, I can show you where to find him.” Coyote offered.

“Why?” I countered.

“Now that, is an interesting question White-Hare.” Coyote replied looking off into the distance. “I have my reasons. Maybe I want to see you chase him down and stomp a mudhole in his ass, or maybe I just want to send you on a wild goose chase…maybe I want you to interfere so that you get arrested by the good officers of Nevada. Or maybe it’s none of those things and I want you to learn something… Which do you think?”

“Knowing you, you’d probably like to see me get thrown in jail.” I mumbled.

“You have been a pain in my ass enough.” Coyote laughed.

Dammit, if Coyote thought this guy was important enough to give me a clue, hell to even show up here at this moment, there was something important going on. He had mentioned Changing Woman not being in her Hogan and that was damn strange too. What I wanted to know was, why me and not someone else. He had other people who would help, people who would most definitely take offense to me interfering in any Native business.

“If you don’t go now, he’ll escape.” Coyote said picking at his fingernails.

“Damn you and your enigmatic crap!” I said turning with decision and stalking to the back door.

I went in and headed to the fireplace. There was a few things I would need so I grabbed the leather bracer sitting on the mantle and slipped it on. It had been a long time since I had used it and I could still feel the power held in it. I snapped my finger and said ‘Onlucan’. The bookshelf to the right of the fireplace dissolved and a cabinet replaced it. I looked up and down for a moment at the old items I used to carry a long time ago. The Arizona Marshal star still untarnished sat in a case within, a lever action rifle, my Colt Army .44 still in its holster and a bowie knife sheathed on the opposite side of the belt. There was also a staff of gnarled ancient mountain beech.

I took up the gun belt and buckled it on, I reached instinctively for the rifle and staff and paused. No need for all that yet, I was just going to go talk with the guy…I had enough with me to get a good conversation out of him.

When I stepped back out of the house, Coyote was leaned up against it like the cowboy in those cigarette ads. He even had a piece of grass in his mouth.

“Ready hoss?” He asked.

“Lead the way old man.” I said.

“Look who’s talkin.” He snorted. “Step where I step White-Hare. Don’t want you to miss and go splat.”

With that he took several strides, the last of which ended right over the edge of a twenty foot drop straight down the cliff behind my house and vanished. I hesitated for a beat, but hell, you only live once right? I followed in exactly the same steps stride for stride and as I stepped off the edge I… Well I don’t really know what happened, one moment I felt like I was going to tumble down to land on jagged mountain rocks and the next I was stumbling forward onto a flat piece with Coyote ahead of me. There are just some things that the beings of the Never-never can do that are so damn amazing. Coyote didn’t open a way, he just ‘went’ from one place to another. I had seen other beings do that in Faerie a lot, but pulling it off in Faerie and pulling it off in the mortal world were two very different things.

“It takes some practice…and natural talent.” Coyote drawled.

“Shut up. Damn, showoff.” I grumbled.

I looked around and took stock of the area. We were down the slope from my house maybe half a mile, the road was on the other side of the hill so it was all rock and dirt and scrub. The troopers wouldn’t be able to get their vehicles to this side of the mountain unless they went all the way around. They would probably have a helicopter in the air soon though, which meant I didn’t have a lot of time to get this guy and get some information.

I caught the tracks of someone moving east, so I followed in the shadow of the mountain. The light in the sky was deepening red and fading. It would be dark soon and I could damn well kiss any trail I was following goodbye if I hadn’t caught up by then. I followed for a few minutes until I came to an arroyo. The tracks went over the lip and I stalked up slow trying to keep quiet. I’d rather not give him any reason to run now. If I could slip up on him, I wouldn’t have to tire myself out either. Being older does have a few disadvantages, even for a wizard. I peered over the edge and I could see the slippage where the dirt had come loose, foot gouges in the side of the arroyo sliding down the side to the bed. I looked up and down and didn’t see sign of the quarry, so I edged over and slid down as quietly as I could.

“I’ll keep a lookout from up here.” Coyote said, walking forward along the edge.

I found a footprint here or there along the bed but darkness was fast approaching and sign was getting hard to read. I sped up looking left and right into the crevices and places where gullets emptied into the arroyo. I had just turned to check around a break in the dry river bed when I felt a stirring, I went for my gun but a blunt force impact across my back sent me sprawling into the dirt. Pain shot through my back and I hit the ground hard. I yelled and cursed with pain from the strike and again from the riverbed that sped forward to kiss me lovingly.

“Lookout…” Coyote shouted down as I lay on my face. “He’s behind you.”

“Ass.” I growled and instinctively threw myself into a sideways roll.

The thud of a dried branch as big as my calf smashed into the ground where my head had just been and dirt shot up into my face. I kicked wildly in the direction of my attacker and caught what felt like a shin.

“You shouldn’t have followed me! Now I’m gonna kill you, you old son of a bitch!” The bastard yelled at me and clubbed the branch down again.

I rolled to my right and this time I was ready. “Lariata!” I yelled and a ghostly green chord shot out from my left hand wrapping around the man’s ankles. The bracer on my arm glowed with eldritch light as the focus tensed with magical force. I held up my right hand and called out “Sleah!” The unseen fist of energy hit him in the chest and I hauled back on the ethereal rope and the same time. The man slammed backward onto the ground, his wind huffed out and the branch went spinning off into the darkness.

With an effort of will the green bands snaked up his body and held him while he shook and cursed. I squatted down beside him and pulled out the old Colt. I pushed the barrel into his cheek and he went quiet and lay still.

“Now…” I said gritting my teeth. “Me and you are going to have a few words. Got it?”

He didn’t nod, didn’t struggle, didn’t say anything, he just stared up at the sky.

I murmured more will into the ropes and they squeezed. He gasped but didn’t say anything to me, or even look my direction. This was going to be a tough nut to crack, and he wasn’t at all bothered by the magic I had used…which meant that he had been exposed to magical talent before, or he was very flexible in his thinking. This guy didn’t seem to be the sort that was a knowledge seeker or anything, so I guessed the former was the case. He knew about magic, had seen it and didn’t have to try and incorporate what was going on.

“You aren’t a bank robber. At least you aren’t any regular ole bank robber.” I mused looking down at the man. This time I really looked at him. I pulled in a steadying breath, let it out real slow and opened my sight. 

A wizard’s sight was useful in some ways, and frighteningly hard to deal with in others. It gave a wizard perspective on ethereal things and magical things, but it was dangerous too, because there were any number of horrors you really didn’t want to open up to and let tromp around in your psyche. Plus, anything you saw with it you never forgot, and when you get to be my age there’s a damn lot you wished you could. Adding to the list of mental terrors I had witnessed over my lifetime wasn’t high on my list, but I had felt a twinge of something before he had struck me, and it’s never a good idea to leave a potential threat with an advantage.

What I saw was odd. There was my magical lariat holding him fast, glowing green magical energy that sparkled and pulsed throwing out light as it wound around the man. His form however was gaunt and spiritually desiccated. It was like something had drained all the moisture out of his body…but I wasn’t looking at his body, I was looking at his spiritual form. I could see a slight writhing dark band inside his ribs…it looked like a leech or a tape worm just wriggling there. Revulsion flooded into me and I turned away for a second then back. I had seen similar victims in the past, some of demonic possession or supernatural parasites that attached to a living host, rode it around and then drained it of life essence.

I dropped my sight, I had seen enough of that.

“So, what has you?” I asked.

“None of your damn business wizard.” He spat the last words at me like a curse.

“You called me a mutant earlier, now I’m a wizard. You should pick an insult and go with it.”

“It’s all the same, monkeys with shiny toys all of you…”

“Now that’s interesting, I feel like I’ve heard that line of reasoning somewhere before.” I replied. “You’re not one of the Fallen, too easily brought down for their like. What do you think Coyote? A lesser demon or chaotic entity.”

“Could be.” Coyote said from behind me. “Certain one’s you can tell by the way they squirm.”

“Now I know why the wizard is involved!” The man growled. “You will pay for this involvement little mutt god!”

“Well if you have it in you, little Manitou give me your best shot.” Coyote said moving forward to stand over the man.

Manitou. Damn that was it. They were evil little bastards that inhabited a part of the Never-never that some called the Hunting Grounds. It had been translated into ‘Happy Hunting Grounds’ by some damned fool who didn’t know what he was talking about. It most definitely wasn’t a happy place. It was a spiritual place that housed all sorts of entities and was even home to some of the shamanistic deities whose names were rarely spoken upon the world in the current times. I had not seen a Manitou attach itself to a human in a very, very long time. Something was up and this must be what Coyote was asking me to look into.

Thugs McGee here was playing host to a bonafide devil and I wasn’t about to have these types of little shit-plugs in my back yard.

“Wait a second White-Hare, the little devil wants to say something…” Coyote mocked.

“He has the woman laughing dog. He will slay her when the time is right, you won’t get her back and he will take her power for his own.” The Manitou laden numbskull cackled with glee. “The One Who Stalks the Mountain has returned, and he has taken the elders from their lodges, he will devour them and turn the sands under the moon bright red with the blood of the Dine. They will pay for trying to banish him to the outer darkness…fool dog, you are finished.”

There was a tearing sound like dry corn husks being twisted and the Manitou ripped itself free of the body. The man was split open like a dried gourd and the dark form of the Manitou poured out onto the ground wisping away and leaving the ground wet with ectoplasm.

I looked at the remains. The body was fading away into the night like dust. A small dark cloud billowed along the ground and dispersed as the last rays of sunlight died across the desert. I shivered, this was just not my day. Not my day at all. My arm was itching and I’d have to deal with that later, but now I needed to get back to my place and have a think about what just happened.

“If you want my help, you’ll have to be straight with me…as much as is in your nature to do.” I said looking up at the few stars that had started to show themselves in the gloaming. “I need to know…”

I turned around and Coyote was gone. 

“Got-dammit!” I yelled into the empty night and kicked the ground with my boot, stubbing my toe and sending some dirt and gravel skittering off into the darkened bed of the arroyo.

It took me a while to climb up out of the arroyo in the moonlight. I finally found my way back onto the hardpan and walked a few miles to the road. I walked around the base of the mountain for maybe half an hour before someone pulled over to the side at the behest of my outstretched thumb. It was an older man driving a 1940s pickup with a wooden flatbed. The thing had seen the better part of a century in rust but it puttered on up without much fuss and came to a crunching stop in the gravel beside me. Golden oldies were coming out of the radio and the man reached up and switched it off as he leaned across to roll down the window.

“Look like you’re hard up fella. Where ya headed?”

“Just around to Boulder City, I live on the other side of the mountain there.”

“Well, hop on in, I am headed that way.”

“Much obliged.” I said and shook his hand, and climbed up onto the old bench seat and closed the door. It was a comfortable old truck, not large but roomy on the inside and it had the faint smell of tobacco and manure. 

“Work on a ranch?” I ventured.

“Aye, how can ya tell?”

“Oh, the smells of home.” I said and meant it. It had been a long time since I had been back to the ranch. “There was a time when I lived that life…”

“Yep. Never gets old does it?” He asked solemnly.

“Nope. My bones don’t miss it though. The older I get the more I feel it when a thunderstorm comes strolling through.” I said.

He laughed and we reminisced of ranching for the short ride around the mountain and back to the city. I was dropped off in town and hiked the way up the hill to my place. I lived just above Boulder City Nevada on what used to be an old switchback trail that the county decided to pave over and connect to the highway a few decades before. I owned a patch of land on the mountain and was ok with having privacy so I hadn’t sold out to developers who wanted to build golf courses and well to do suburbs along the slopes toward my house. A long time ago I had been the only one living on that mountain, now I could see the lights of Las Vegas sparkling in the night. Every year the city inched a bit closer, and one of these days I would probably have to move to Utah or some shit. I really didn’t want attention and I was fine making and selling my trinkets and having my shop just this side of civilization. The little episode today was going to land me in hot water though and I could expect a visit from some none too happy wizards at some point. They had their hands full, from what I had heard, because some damned fool had gone and kicked a hornet’s nest. If what I heard was true, the Council was having a hard time in a war with the Red Court. I didn’t have a dog in that fight and I would as soon none of them paid me any attention.

There were a couple of Reds in Vegas but I had never messed with them and as long as they didn’t out and out start massacring people, I wasn’t going to get involved. I wasn’t really even supposed to be around anymore, so invisibility had been my lifeline for many a decade. I didn’t really like Reds, but there was a lot about the world I didn’t really care for that I had learned to deal with. Vampires are one thing, they could be tolerated as long as they stayed within certain bounds. Manitou on the other hand, were chaotic little bastards that were always a sign of something else meaner and more evil stirring. If the Council was as busy with the Reds as I thought they might be, that would explain why Coyote was involving me.

Coyote like most of the other Native American gods had mostly gone dormant. They still visited their people from time to time and did the enigmatic things that gods do, but the beliefs that had held them aloft had dwindled and they had ceased to be an acting force, except Coyote. For whatever reason, he always had some motivation and was not one to sit around and let things pass his notice. He had actually acted in what little capacity he was able on several instances in my known memory. The last time I had seen him in direct action, he and I were on different sides of a conflict. Decisions of a long time ago were not something to worry about now however. I needed some more information about the Manitou and ‘The One Who Stalks the Mountain’. For that I need to talk to someone else that I wasn’t on the best terms with…my dad.

So, I drug my tired old butt back up the hill to the house and found it mostly quiet when I arrived. The tow trucks were just leaving with two hollowed out hulks and most of the emergency vehicles had left with the notable exception of Alvares’ NHP SUV still parked at the edge of my driveway. Another unmarked vehicle was pulled up behind him at a skewed angle.

As I walked up the drive to the house Alvares and a new guy stood from crouches and moved my way.

“Mr. du Monde,” Alvares started.

“Matt.” I responded.

“Ok Matt. This is Detective Marcus with Boulder City PD.” He continued.

“Detective.” I tipped my had, then took it off and dusted it on my leg.

“We tried to find you earlier when Detective Marcus arrived but you had disappeared.” Alvares said eying me.

“Mind telling us where you got off to Mr. du Monde?” Marcus asked curtly.

“It’s Matt and yeah I mind.” I wanted to look him square in the eye, but I had had enough soul gazes and sight for one night. I just wanted to get inside, draw a hot bath and put some icy hot on every part of me that ached.  
“Matt, you told me you’d be around if we needed you.” Alvares said cautiously. “And you told me that before…unarmed.”

“Well, you see Trooper Alvares, I own a lot of this property around here and I happened to see a ky-ote I didn’t like. They’re pesky varmints and I followed after it.”

“Coyotes, eh?” Detective Marcus said. He didn’t believe a damn word I was saying and I could see it. “Kind of hard to see them in the dark with no flashlight, and you don’t have any night vision gear…you sure it was coyotes Matt?”

“Oh, I’m sure. Bastard up and disappeared on me. As they do…” I said dryly.

“Well, do you mind if I ask you some questions about what happened earlier?” Detective Marcus said, segueing smoothly into his routine.

“Fine.” I said and motioned to the house. I took a seat on the porch and went though what had happened for the next half hour. Detective Marcus was prudent enough to ask me about my firearm, the knife, and the events after I had last spoken with Trooper Alvares as well. He was thorough, I’ll give him that. After getting the same story out of me several times Detective Marcus thanked me and gave me his card. He told me we’d be in touch and that I should hang around for a while just in case he needed to contact me, as I don’t own any of those newer gadgets like a cell phone.

Alvares hung around for a bit after Marcus had cleaned up and gone pretending to do paperwork in his car. When everyone had pulled off and out of sight he rolled his window down. I had seen what he was doing and so I sat on the porch until they all pulled off, to give him whatever moment he wanted to have.

“Matt,” He said from the open window of his car. “I still want to talk to you again about what happened here today. I know a place up the road in Henderson, I think you’d like it. I’m off duty tomorrow. Let’s have a beer and talk it over…good with you?”

“Good with me, when?”

“Opens at eleven, but I’m old fashioned, so I wait until noon before I do any drinking.” He said with a grin.

“Five o’clock somewhere.” I replied. “Alright, tomorrow for lunch.”

“See ya then.” He said, gave a nod and pulled off.

I leaned back, and looked at the stars for a minute, I scratched absently at my left arm and then tore my lazy old bones off the porch and into the house. The night was still young and I had some answers to get. After a bath.


	3. Old Ties and New

I woke in the morning to light streaming through the eastern windows of my house. My body ached from the exertions and fighting the day before and I groaned as I rolled over in bed. The bruising on my back from the branch I had been hit with shot like fire as my muscles tensed. The smells of menthol and camphor assaulted me and I gingerly rolled over and slid off of the bed onto my knees. I stayed there for a bit letting the sleep wear off and when I felt like I wouldn’t swoon I used the bed to help me get to my feet. I pulled on a shirt but left it unbuttoned. I washed and shaved and looked at my head and what I could of my bruised body in the mirror. From what I could see, today through next week was going to be one big ball of suck.

After finishing up with the morning toiletries I pulled on my boots, buttoned the old cotton shirt, and went to the stove. An old blue graniteware coffee pot sat to the side of an equally vintage kerosene cook stove, and I picked it up to slosh it around a bit. There was definitely some coffee left so I rummaged around for the sugar and grabbed an old beat up porcelain cup from the cabinet. The cup was an embossed caramel color with upraised, though well worn, letters that spelled out “Hardyburger” and “Nickel Coffee” surrounding a Buffalo Nickel. Hey, that cup will still get you coffee for a nickel if you present it at any Hardyburger…coffee is expensive these days. Only problem was I lived in Nevada and the closest Hardyburger was in Albuquerque. I had gotten it a long time ago in Texas and it had served me cheap coffee for over a decade. Sugar piled up in the bottom of the cup until it was at an acceptable level, about a quarter of the cup, and then black cowboy coffee sloshed up the sides until the cup was about to brim over. I gave it a quick stir with my finger and tasted it…strong, black, syrupy…the right ratio.

I looked at the clock, sighed and slurped at the coffee. I had told Alvares that I’d meet him at a point of his choosing to discuss whatever it was he wanted to discuss. I figured that it was about what he saw during the soul gaze, but he was a Trooper, so he might just have some other work related questions for me as well, though seeing how it was an informal meeting they would most likely be off the record. Hopefully the place, let’s see now, I checked the information he gave me. “John Henry Saloon” was written on the paper in a deft blocky script. There was an address beside it, but I generally knew where it was. I think I had been there once, a long time ago when it was run by different management, with a different name on the sign. My left arm was giving me fits and I scratched at it, trying to pay it no attention but failing miserably. The itch was just like a damn run in with poison ivy spreading up my arm. I was going to have to deal with it and some point, but that could be later.

I mentally ran through what I had to do today and got a plan together. After I finished up the conversation with Alvares, I would need to go my shop grab a few things, and then stop by the tower. I know it’s a bit cliché, wizard having a tower and all, but you will have to forgive me; when I grew up it was all the rage. I can’t help it if times change and people lose a taste for the good things in life.

I left the bracer on my left wrist and folded up the gun belt and set it back into the cabinet. I pulled out a small black box from the cabinet and opened it carefully, muttering a few words to release the energy set as wards around it. I felt a cool energy pulse out as the wards disbanded and an old familiar aura whisper to me. It was odd to have left these implements behind so long ago, adrenaline and anticipation made my hand shake as I ran it over the engravings in the top of the box. Flipping the latch up and gently opening the small box, I found everything exactly as I had left it over seventy years ago. A small gold and silver ring carved in the shape of an octopus, another banded with copper, silver, gold, and platinum formed a snake with a bulbous head. I slid my gris gris bands onto my right hand and removed the jeweled bracelet with ancient Norse runes carved into it and slipped it onto my left wrist. Last I pulled out the amulet, it was a small translucent sphere melded into a chain of alternating linked metals. Inside the sphere swished a small amount of deep black liquid. I held it up in front of the kerosene lamp on the wall and looked to check it. The light from the kerosene lamp twisted around the glass but if one looked very closely it became a vortex just inside the glass sphere and disappeared into the inky liquid. I clasped it around my neck and murmured a small nonsensical phrase and the amulet disappeared, transforming into a necklace that resembled a miniaturized version of a tow chain. 

It felt a bit weird to be putting on these items again after so long. It was like slipping into an old comfortable pair of shoes you fond cleaning out your parent’s attic, or a pair of jeans that you found in the back of the closet that still fit, but that you hadn’t seen in a decade. There was not exactly a smell, like clothes or books would give off, but there was a certain feel and sense of the items. The familiar weight and sparks of power within them ignited old feelings; feelings of safety, arcane mystery, and …even if I didn’t like to admit it…power. These were the old foci of my power that I had set aside and having placed them as I did, they had remained safely stored and powered until I removed them from the little part of the Nevernever I had carved out for that very purpose.

I still didn’t feel the need to carry my staff, or my heavier weapons, or even my old Army coat, but I pushed on my cowboy hat, buckled on an old leather belt with a buckle that had my initials embossed into it, and grabbed for the mundane things I’d need for a quick trip into town.

Luckily old thugee hadn’t seen my bike when he had stormed my shop yesterday or he might have not taken me outside and just shot me on site and rode off into the sunset. Coyote had gotten lucky putting me into that spot. If it was in my power…ok it probably wasn’t…but if it was, I’d have that little laughing mongrel’s ass. I opened up the shop door and pulled the tarp off my bike. I had a 1937 Indian Sport Scout that had served me well over the years. The bike was a midnight blue with the faded markings of the golden Indian logo on the gas tank. It had a beat up brown leather seat and big black wall tires with dull metallic spokes. It may not have looked like much from the paint job, but it was a tough old bird and easy for me to maintain on my own. 

The parts had gone out of style a half century before, but I knew places I could still get things I needed, and most of it was fairly robust so breakdowns were thankfully rare. The good thing about it was that it was pre -World War II and that it had very little in the way of electronics. I wheeled it out of the garage and locked up behind me before turning the key and setting the throttle. I absolutely loved this part. There were birds flitting around the stubby pines near my house and a few roadrunners messing about in the rocks and dirt nearby. I kicked the starter and listened to the engine rumble to life. It was a good sound, the mechanical basso thrumming of a carburetor so I gave it some throttle and watched the wildlife scatter. I slow rolled out of the driveway and goosed it as I started down the hill toward my meeting with Alvares.

About half an hour later the tires of my old scout crunched to a halt in the gravel parking lot of an establishment that looked like something straight out of a Leone film; at least from the front. The ‘John Henry’ Saloon looked like an old west enthusiast’s wet dream. The clapboard exterior was significantly worn and weathered to authenticity and the wrap around porch where patrons may have once hitched their horses or wagons was home to a couple of newer motorcycles. A few cars sat near the back, probably those of the establishment’s staff and up closer to the front was parked a pair of jack up pickup trucks. I hated to make generalizations, but I just hated those. Every person whom I had ever come in contact, save for one guy I had never met who pulled a ballsy move on the highway once, was an asshole. I frowned at the pickups and rolled my bike up next to a newer Harley.

Two men wearing biker leather and accompanying tattoos stood leaning on the rail and smoking. They looked down at the bike and the one in sunglasses nodded his head in apparent appreciation of the old Indian.

“Beauty.” He said.

“Thanks,” I replied as I kicked down the stand and sidled off the bike.

“’36?” He asked.

“Close, a ’37. You have a good eye.” I said back.

“My dad was a mechanic, saw lots of the old models in Vegas back in the day. Hell’s Angels used to come through a lot and you’d get all kinds.” He explained.

“Yep, she’s my baby.” I walked up the stairs and toward the Saloon doors past the men.

They grunted an acknowledgement and went back to their conversation. The two outer doors of the saloon were locked open to the Nevada midday but inside them were honest to god swinging saloon doors. I pulled down my hat and stood for a second, and stomped my boots on the boards outside to get the feel. The bikers looked over at me.

“I have always wanted to make an old west entrance.” I grinned. “Left my spurs at home though…”

They chuckled and shook their heads.

I kept my pace slow and my footfalls fairly even. I strode up, paused in the doorway in a fashion I thought would seem cinematic and then pushed on into the Saloon with the midday sun silhouetting me against the doorway. You know, I never thought that one reason why people in movies paused dramatically when they stepped from a sunlit outer area into a bar was that they couldn’t see a damn thing. I didn’t want to look like a goob so I stepped forward, but to my utter surprise, my toe caught on the faintest edge of an upraised board and I stumbled forward into the bar resembling a drunken Charlie Chaplin and nothing like smooth steady Clint Eastwood.

I looked up a bit red face with embarrassment and a bit with anger, and only the bartender was looking at me. The few patrons that were actually in the saloon were at a table far in the back and hadn’t taken any notice of my antics. The bartender stood in a vintage bartender outfit that you’d see in any western and stereotypically polishing a glass.

“Watch that first step.” He said with a southern drawl. “She’s a doozay.”

There was a ghost of a smile on his lips and he gestured to the bar in front of him.

“Come in, come in, pull up a stool and have some hospitalitay.” He said congenially. “Welcome to the John Henray, what can I get ya?”

He tossed a one page menu up in front on me as I sat down and deftly put a water glass onto a coaster next to it. I ordered up some eggs and chorizo but I waited on Alvares before I got anything real to drink. I didn’t mind putting a few back, but I wasn’t a solo drinker, never had much use for it. Drinking was for having fun, and if I was going to have a good conversation and get loose, I could always wait on company.

As he said, right the clock behind the bar chimed noon Alvares came walking in and lept up onto a stool beside me. He checked out what I was eating and nodded, then ordered two beers.

“One for me,” He said gesturing to one beer, he paused then gesture to the other. “And another for me.”

I smirked and put a few bills on the bar for the breakfast and told the barkeep, his name was John, to give me a bourbon on the rocks. He did and Alvares motioned to a table in the opposite corner of the bar.

He stopped before the table, putting down one beer and spinning a chair to sit in it backwards before draining a sixteen ounce mug in one long chug. He looked up seriously and said.

“Let’s chat.”

“Shoot.” I said and leaned back to see what he had to say.

We talked through lunch and a better part of the afternoon about lots of things. He had been dealing with things he couldn’t explain most of his life. He said that I was the latest in a string of chin scratching situations that he filed away as odd.

“So all of this magic stuff is real you say?” He asked looking thoughtfully at a waitress who was moving away after bringing him another round. “Like really magic exists?”

“Yes, it really does exist. Lots of people have talent, like your grandmother.” I said and he looked up. I paused to let it sink in then I finished my thought. “And, like you.”

“Hold on man, no, no,” He laughed and slapped the table. “Not me, I don’t go in for all that shit. I barely go to Mass once a year to have confession. I’m not the faith type.”

“Well, while faith does have a part to play in some forms of magical rites, ceremony, and maybe even castings of a sort, it’s really not necessary.” I said seriously. “You have the talent, it may not be much, but you have some. Passed to you by your grandmother, through you mother.”

“You’re serious?” He asked looking down into his beer.

“I’m serious. You have a modest gift, probably not enough to make the Council, but stronger than most minor talents I have met. I saw it through your grandmother during the soul gaze. She was a practitioner too. She too wasn’t strong enough to be on the council, but I’m sure she had some tangible amount of power that she used.” I commented.

“Si,” He said. “Abuela was known in the small town and around as a healer. She made certain little trinkets and bags of medicine that people would use for all sorts of things. She told us that it was all from Santeria. She must not have known either.”

“Most people who cannot work the larger forces don’t normally see it as wizardy. They have faith and beliefs all tied up into their magic and don’t have the amount of power or training to separate them. Ritual is important though, even for those with a lot of magical talent. Rituals help you focus the energy you want to employ, or to do all sorts of things in the magical arena that aren’t just about tossing energy around. Martial Artists are a good example of this. There are certain Masters who can hold their palm over water and make it vibrate, or punch through concrete without hurting their knuckles, or even knock people out from five feet away without ever touching them. A lot of people call it woo woo martial arts, and there are definitely a lot of con artists out there. But some of the things I’ve seen and experienced are the real deal. Most of the genuine magic wielding masters use martial arts as a magical focus, and don’t go on TV trying to publish the fact. There are lots of nasty things in the spiritual realm that eat little fish to grow stronger, and proclaiming to the whole world that you’re a minor talent with no ties to the White Council or any other supernatural organization is a good way to end up missing and have your talent drained from you before you spend the last moments of your agonized life drowning in a muddy pool in Bangladesh.”

“Guess I would never of thought of that.” He said soberly. 

“It was part of the reason that the White Council was setup. The intent was to train magic users in powerful but responsible use of the art and to swiftly punish those who would try to use the art for nefarious purposes, but as with everything good intentions only take you so far.” I said putting down my latest drink.

“I have heard some murmurings that I think I might investigate further. I will get back to you with some information.” I said. “There are people in the area who have some bit of magical talent and I can try and get you in with them. You’re good folk and I will vouch for you with some of the community that I know.”

“The community?” He asked.

“Yes, people like yourself, and others like me. People with talent.” I replied taking a drink.

“So…uh how does this work? Are you my Jedi Master now or…what?” He asked.

“No, no no no. I don’t do that sort of work anymore. Associating with me might as easy get you killed as get you trained.” I replied quickly. I didn’t need anymore hassles in my life right now that what were already mounting. I had kept a low profile for decades and now Coyote had involved me in something that would definitely get me noticed by the White Council again. Taking on a minor talent apprentice would definitely be trouble.

He looked down. “Well, you know something from the ‘thing’.”

“Soul gaze, or just gaze.”

“From the gaze, you know, when I looked at you…into you…I saw my Abuela.”

I arched my eyebrows. “Go on…”

“She told me some things about you. And all the movies that were playing also said some things about you too. Westerns mainly…you were a man of the law like me. But…before that…” He trailed off.

“Yep.” I said quietly. “I am three hundred years old Miguel. There is a lot this old coot has seen and done. I have had way too many years to rack up both good deeds and bad…”

“She said that you will not forgive yourself for certain things. I saw why. You…”

“Haven’t done enough to make up for them, never will.” I cut him off.

“You still have a job to do.” He continued smoothly after my interruption. “In the end, she said that the sins of your past hold you back, and that you let them dictate your future. She said I could help you. I don’t know if that’s true or not Matt, but I will do what I can. If you’re willing to be friends, I will stand by you. It’s the least I can do for Abuela.”

“That’s a fine offer, and a man can never have enough good friends Miguel.” I said. “But there is something that I need to explain in pretty plain terms.”

He nodded and waited.

“To the Council, I am what some hardliners would consider a Warlock. That means that I am a dangerous person who lives outside the boundaries of the laws that they setup to protect humanity from abuses of magical power and influence. I was once part of the White Council, but I took an oath and bound myself to it by the very essence of my power.”

I rolled up the sleeve on my left arm and two inches up from my left elbow the faint glimmers and edges of the Celtic knotwork were beginning to reveal the hidden tattoo, a magical branding. The damn thing itched like poison ivy spawned in hell and was really, really distracting. It was supposed to be. That distraction was part of the spell woven into the brand to make it hard for me to focus my will and perform complex magical tasks that required substantial amounts of will. I had set off the brand by using my power the day before. As long as I had only used whispers of will to create and do very simple tasks, I had found that I could work around the brand and still keep to the oath. It had allowed me to still practice what I could without my magical talent drying up and being completely extinguished, but it had also meant that the vast well of power that I used to be able to call upon had filled in over time, and stretching back to that extent may be impossible, or at least plenty dangerous.

“This tattoo is a symbol of that oath. I gave up willful working of substantial magical forces a long time ago. It was part of a self-inflicted penance that I felt had to be done at that time to prove a point. Maybe a lot of the Council thought I was self-righteous or doing it for dramatics, but I was pretty damn adamant that it was the right thing to do at the time. A story for another time anyways. If I use too much of my will, this brand will fill in and it will cut me off from my magical talent, it’s sort of like a warding circle. It will wrap around my arm and I will no longer be able to exert my will. So literally, I have a limit on what I could teach you, plus the Council would find it…let’s say…dangerous, if they found out I was teaching apprentices. I can teach you some very minor things if you have the aptitude. But if the Council found out, they would suspect us both, and the Wardens don’t take kindly to people learning outside the prescribed ‘authorized’ environment.”

I left off the part about the tattoo that was the real kicker. Someone else had a matching brand on a small beaded necklace. It could have been a Warden, but most likely it was one of the Senior Council members…hell maybe even Blackstaff himself…but damn I hope not. McCoy and I hadn’t seen eye to eye on a lot and he was one scary son of a bitch. I might have been able to match him at one point in time, but he had another three quarters of a century expanding his power while I had reduced mine, he had his badge of office, and he didn’t have a tattoo that would make him useless the moment he used too much power. So all in all, even if a fledgling Warden came after me I would have trouble getting away, fighting wasn’t an option. And if Blackstaff or any of the Senior Council decided it was my time to join the procession, I was done for. It also meant that I had to be careful about my associations and keep anything I was doing very, very tidy and small otherwise someone would come poking around. I had a feeling though that if someone had that marker they would already be tracking me down. I couldn’t use any will to confound the tracking spell so, I had in the most real terms sent out a signal flare proclaiming that I wasn’t dead and that I needed checking up on. In other days I would have trained Alvares in whatever he could have handled, but doing anything more than the most minor workings or teaching theory was a fool’s errand at this point.

“It does make sense.” He said thoughtfully. “I mean if this stuff is as real as you say…well as real as what I saw through the gaze…then there can be some really dangerous people out there.”

“You have no idea…” I drawled taking another draw.

We finished up talking and I agreed to meet Alvares at the shop for a lesson or two on the weekend and let him know that I had some things to discuss with family over at the ranch…which was in eastern Arizona.

“Now remember, this is minor stuff only. Mostly going to be sensory things. You aren’t going to go around calling down lighting bolts or conjuring up fire out of thin air. Just so that expectations are clear.”

He nodded soberly. “Understood.”

I shook his hand and we parted amicable after settling up with the bartender. He walked out and I stood there by the bar.

“You look familiar.” I told the bartender as he made change for me. “I swear I’ve seen you before.”

“Probably a family resemblance.” He said with his country accent. “Lots of people tell me I look like someone they know.”

“Yeah, but lots of people don’t have a memory like I do.”

“The proverbial Elephant then?” His mouth quirked up in a smile. “Loxodonta Africana or Elephas maximus?”

“Mammuthus primigenius.” I replied looking at him.

“An educated man.” He looked up, not quite meeting my eyes. “That is a rare thing in any age sir.”

“Tus cis linguae?” I asked.

“Satis bene.” He said.

“Et ne nos lquimur nunc, cum inter se…in usu.” I replied.

“Quod sic; nam usu.” He agreed.

I gave him some money for a tip and headed out. I had a mystery to look into, which meant I had to make some inquiries; from the Nevernever.


	4. White Hair

I started back to my place pondering, then I swung north toward Vegas, I needed to drop by a few places to pick up some items I would need. All in all I spent about two hundred dollars on the items and it lightened my wallet significantly. I wasn’t bad off, but I typically didn’t spend cash like that on this type of stuff.

What Coyote had said about Changing Woman the day before was concerning to me, and then the Manitou’s threat that some big bad something or other was going to consume not only her but the ‘ancient ones’ did not bode well. That is the type of overconfident boasting that villains in comic books do, just before they piss off the hero by stealing his girl or something and making him really go after them. Nothing about this sat right with me. Coyote was involving me into what seemed to me to be Navajo business. I am sure that there were Shamans of the Blessing way who could bind this ‘One Who Stalks the Mountain’, which if I had to say was fairly pretentious of the thing. Well ok, if the Navajo named it a while back that’s fine because they tended to name things by what they did, or how they acted, but if this bastard named himself that just to inspire some sort of dread; it was an amateur move.

I needed to go over the few things I knew and the few things I needed to learn. First, this Stalks the Mountain guy wanted to kill Changing Woman, consume her somehow. The Manitou had said “when the time was right”, which always, and I do mean always, means ritual confluences when dealing with haughty entities. They always have some sort of spiritual confluence, time index, celestial body alignment, or other factor that will do something or other to the mortal world if a ritual is enacted during that temporal frame. Typically it does one of two things. It will either create a weakening of the barrier between the mortal world and the Never-never allowing easier passage into our plane, or it will create a well of power that can be used to breach the veil between the mortal world and the Never-never or supercharge a being that is out of it’s typical domain. The one that you will want to perform depends on a few factors. Is this being in our world already? Does the being have any limitations in this world if so? Is the being relegated to some part of the spirit world and wants to cross over?

After a few hundred years you begin to see the world in all sorts of layers you didn’t really notice when you were younger. The types of power that one can gather and bring to bear on any working of magic are really just dependent on the creativity and knowledge of that particular practitioner’s mind. Immortal beings work on the same principles but they often have vastly longer scales of time in which to work out the fundamental forces and peel back the layers of the onion so to speak, or they just see the onion from a much different or holistic perspective than mortals do. All things considered, mortals really did have a very limited view of how things work. If a Wizard, or even Warlock for that matter, is studious, some of the view of what other longer spanned beings experience can be unfolded even to us mortals. It’s one of the reasons that old Wizards are to be feared. They had lived through a lot of shit and know how to work magic in ways that you hadn’t even thought were possible because you were young and thought that hitting a bad guy with a thirty-foot section of the street was impressive. While old wizard white beard over here is using ley lines and portals into the Never-never and boson spin to affect the amount of power his foe can unleash at him, and then redirect the energy back at it like John McEnroe crushing a returned serve back at his opponent.

I had all those things in mind when I rolled the old Indian back into my shop. I tarped over it and walked inside the house. I sighed and locked the door, it was time to step into it. The cabinet in the living room stood there broodingly as I looked upon it and picked up a letter from the small table next to my recliner. I fingered the letter and looked at the postmark. This complicated things. I would get to it in time, but for the moment I had to get information. I opened the cabinet and took up my staff and a small leather pouch I had carried once upon a time. With a soft-spoken word of power the veil reappeared over my cabinet book case and the doorway to the Never-never enveloped it once again. I slipped the thong through my belt loop and wrapped the thin leather belt around my waist and turned to the little room next to my bedroom. It was a solid oak door on antique solid metal hinges. I placed my staff against the door and pushed effort through it. Runes and magical formulae began to emanate a faint glow from the door. The door literally pulsed with power and I thought I heard the faint rumble of thunder.

I murmured the incantation to temporarily drain the magic held within the wards so that I could enter the small room. The runes faded and the door lock clicked open. I stepped in and closed the door behind me. From the end of my staff I brought forth a small light. At the end of the space maybe six feet in front of me was a covered mirror. Along the left wall were some ritual implements on a small table, and to the right was a shelf with little alchemical bottles arranged evenly. The tiny room, it was really more like a closet, was just as I had left it all those years ago. I moved to the mirror and paused to consider the covering. The blanket was spell laden to hide this particular device from prying eyes and magical noses. It was also the first line of defense in case anything from the Never-never side decided to try and use the mirror as a gateway. The ward laden room and door were the second level of defense. If anything found a way to this side there would be a rude response to an unwanted entry. After that, if something managed to break through, it was on me. I had not used this space for summoning, or many workings of will, so as far as magical ‘scent’ was concerned it didn’t really attract too much attention. I intended to keep it that way.

With the blanket laid aside, the mirror’s surface swirled with a cloudy haze that roiled like a churning cauldron in one of those old black and white horror films. The roiling interior pulsed infrequently like lightning in a far-off thunderstorm. Purple-white flashes from deep within the mirror caught the eye and bade you look.

“Lapin blanc souhaite passer.” I whispered to the mirror. “Adælan.”

“Why should I?” A voice from behind the door countered in a vaguely French accent.

I sighed. “Well, it’s important…”

“Ah, so now it’s important. You throw this old dusty sheet over me, and lock me behind a door for god knows how long and then it’s oh please, let me pass…”

“Well, you know why you were put up. I do not want to rehash old arguments.”

“Unfair.” The mirror said, some of the clouds solidifying into a floating head as it turned to face me. “How long have I been locked away? Hmm? You left me in here for a year didn’t you?”

I winced. “Listen, Roland, it’s not like you can even tell the passage of time. A year, a day, an hour, or even a century and you’d never know the difference.”

I didn’t want to tell him that he’d been covered for over one hundred and fifty years. I had come in only a few times in the last century to consult with the mirror and then covered it again and left it.

“While that may be,” The mirror sniffed. “Intentions also count for something Matthias. Also, Roland is such a droll and unworthy name.”

“I can’t pronounce your real name, not that you’d want me to go throwing it about anyway…I could always go back to calling you Mirror.”

“Ack, not that.” The mirror eyed me. “You…you have aged. A side effect of having taken that oath it seems. Not enough magic flowing in the old mortal veins and you get old and crusty on me. Which means you’ve had me in here for a while! Exactly how long have you had me penned up you ghastly wizard?!”

“I’m not crusty!” I shot back. “I’m seasoned.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself Methuselah.” Roland snorted.

“I need passage to the tower.” I said seriously. “I have business there but I will be back. You will remain uncovered until I return.”

“Ah, so gracious. You have the required offering I assume?”

“Crap, almost forgot.” After a few moments I returned to the room with some of the items I had procured in Vegas. “Got it.”

“Mine first.” The mirror said haughtily. “Or I will help you not…”

“How do you…oh never mind.” I took five golden coins from the bag which had small stamps that read C.E. on them. “These you’re going to be impressed with.”

“We will see…” He replied with an air of nobleman doubt.

I took each coin and slowly pushed it through the face of the mirror into a now congealed floating hand, they landed lightly and it stacked them and another hand materialized to pick up the stack and drop them making little clacking noises over and over again.

“Good weight, and solid finish. They were expensive?”

“Some of the best I could find on this side of the Atlantic.” I replied.

All of the stack save one disappeared. The hands moved slowly and delicately around the coin, peeling back the golden covering to reveal a thick chocolate circle within. The mirror held up the chocolate coin, examined it and then a small semicircular section of the coin disappeared.

“Ooh, mmm, ah yes…hmmm. Is that bourbon?” Roland asked excitedly.

“Yep. A little surprise, thought you’d enjoy that.”

“You have definitely altered your status in the chocolate procurement market Matthias.” Roland said. “Ok, pass.”

I looked at the mirror, whispered the name of the Way that the mirror and I had worked out for my Tower in France and I stepped through. I landed on a sunny patch of grass. It was a tuft of thick turf among others that had grown up in the middle of a broken and worn down cobble stone path. It had changed a bit since I had been through last, but the scenery was familiar. The ways would often change after decades, sometimes even centuries, but the mirror was a device that held a number of ways within it and could be called upon with the right intention to find its connection with those ways. While the physical world might alter ways, the mirror held the spiritual address so to speak of the ways within it and allowed passage from wherever it was in the mortal physical world into the Never-never directly to those limited ways. One of them that I had the mirror remember was to my sanctum in France. The mirror wasn’t a transport device, it still dumped you out into the Never-never to trod the way for yourself, but it was a handy tool to be able to link to very specific ways that you used frequently.

To be fair, the wizard’s use of the word ‘frequent’ most often quantitates a lot less often than for normal mortals. I traveled down the path until I came to a small burbling creek with a little bridge made of stone and wood that passed over. As I approached I clacked my staff noisily on the ground, and then rapped upon the stones of the bridge one-two-three, pause, one-two, pause, one, pause, one.

A growl rumbled up from under the bridge, deep and throaty. Stones around me vibrated this way and that from the sound.

“Who wishes to pass my bridge? Let him speak, and pay the toll.”

“Tis I, Matthias du Monde who wishes to pass grandmother, in peace and with payment.”

I heard a tittering laugh bubble up from below the bridge and a fae creature hobbled up from below doing her best Master Yoda impression. She was about three and a half feet tall, with a mottled green and sandy brown complexion. Her face was goblinish, her nose far too sharp and drooping, her eyes were large and dark, and her pointed ears stuck out at stark angles to her wrinkled face. A mane of what resembled vines and branches rolled back from her brow wound up in a shock of a ponytail behind her. It made a swishing sound like a broom on a stone floor when she walked. She was dressed in a homespun dress that looked frayed and used, but not shredded or in tatters. She had four clawed toes and four clawed fingers. She steadied herself in the middle of the bridge with her hand upon a stumpy, gnarled old branch.

“Oh, have a token do you, hrmmm?” She said her eyes squinting at me.

“I do. Take this as payment and grateful levy for our bargain.” I held up a small golden bag.

She hobbled forward and sniffed at the bag. Then quickly took it and hid it away.

“Acceptable…but so that you know, the payment has changed wizard.” She said and tapped her walking stick on my leg.

“Hold on, what? Now Granny we have had this agreement for centuries. How can the price of our bargain change?” I asked with a huff.

“Changed it did, change it can…but…” There was a gleam in her eye. “I will give you a riddle so that you may suss it out for yourself.”  
Granny and I had made a pact a long time back when I first moved from Europe to the Americas. Back then trans-Atlantic travel wasn’t just buy a ticket and sit on a plane for a few hours and arrive safe and sound in the old world. Passage in those days was rough and potentially dangerous depending on a lot of factors. People still made the voyages and by the time I had come over it wasn’t quite as treacherous as those first explorers, but it was nowhere near as prevalent or as cheap as it was in modern times.

So as wizards do, when they need to travel, I found a ‘Way’. This particular way however, was across a certain geriatric troll’s bridge and instead of let her eat my face off, I decided to strike a deal. I brought her chocolate. The best chocolate I could find, with truffles of course, was the deal. It had cost me a small fortune over the centuries to keep Granny happy and pay the tolls, but all in all I found the bargain to be acceptable. It was not as hard as one would think to accumulate wealth when one lived for a few centuries. This however was pushing on the limits of our agreement. Technically, I think I had her but it’s not always good to piss off a fae creature from the Never-never, especially one who could hold a Way in the same position to exit at the same place for centuries like Granny could. That was a testament to her will alone, I had never dared to try her power for power. I had the feeling that I’d end up pasted all over the hillside.

“Holy shit…I really dislike riddles. This goes against our bargain…”

Her eyes narrowed, “Are you calling me an oath-breaker wizard?”

I felt the pressure of will gather around her and I think the air around her darkened slightly as she brooded.

“No Granny, no. Not that.” I amended quickly. “I only mean to say that our payments were agreed and that I should be told if a new payment is necessary.”

“Correct, and a riddle you get.”

I sighed. “Fine…will this payment be enough to get me across the bridge to and from my destination this time?”

“I will ascent. Next time, the correct offering you will bring.” She struck her walking stick once on the ground like a judge pounding a gavel.

“Ok, the riddle, let’s have it.”

“Round is the shape I am most fond. Red are the rings that form my bond with white gold locks of molten delight. Thou may take me in right out of the fire or let me lose my heat and settle just right. The messenger with whom I am carried must swiftly haste, or in only half of an hour no charge be laid. I am just as worthy cold as hot. Bring next time to me, or I will pass you not.”

“One hint for the riddle?”

“One hint as is our normal bargain.”

“How did you come upon this new payment? Those of the Never-never rarely change, and normally things that may sway your desires hearken from the mortal world…”

“Astute as always young one. A little brownie told me of this most magnificent find. A treasure trove of delight have I made monument to, under my bridge.” She beamed at me with little needle teeth and a large Cheshire grin.

“Then Granny I will take my leave and pass this way once again and next time have our newly agreed levy.”

“Away then, go you in peace wizard.”

A brownie told her…the little folk were always flitting around doing this and that. It made sense that they would be the ones to bring tidings of new things to the Never-never. They often went about right under the noses of mortals. I confess that I’d been pretty ambivalent to them and often ignored their comings and goings for a long time. However, it actually might not be a bad idea to make sure the little rascals couldn’t find a way into my house or check for them when I was conducting business. Probably have to work out some magical sweep of the area like in those books where secret services or intelligence agencies sweep rooms for technological bugs that might allow eavesdroppers to listen in on super-secret meetings.

I would definitely be asking questions of them when I got home. I had to figure out a way to get one to respond, which was never really easy because the little ones had the attention span of gnats. Typically in the past I had lured them with food, or some sort of interesting trinket, but that had been long ago. The nature of the small folk kept them more in a state of flux than some of the older and more stolid fae. The things that I had used to call them back in Europe might not work anymore. They were about two hundred years out of date. I wonder if those fae that flitted around the old world had any differences than the ones in America…guess I’d have to ask one and find out.

I passed through the way on the other side of the bridge and exited through a circle, a wide circle etched into one wall of my tower. The circle’s emblems, symbols, and formulae flared hotly for a moment and then vanished along with the Way. The smell of old books and sheepskin and ink filled my nose as I took in a breath. I stood for a second there in the dim light of afternoon sun passing through the high windows. Once those had been open to the air, but my first wife had asked me to close them in. I looked at the dust falling through the beams. It had been so long since I had been here. I was home though. There is a feeling about being home that you just can’t top. When all of this was said and done, I would have to visit more often and see France again…and speak French again. No doubt the language had changed yet again in my absence. Time would tell.

‘Candelus!’ I commanded and around the around the room light began to spring forth on wall sconces and three legged braziers on the floor. I started forward, and immediately my senses prickled the back of my neck. I stopped and whispered ‘sensorium’. My left arm began to itch but I ignored it and focused my will into hearing, sight, smell, and touch. The air quavered faintly and I smelled the scent of clean fabric, wool maybe. There was a scrape of shoes, possibly sandals on the stone above me on the floor of the tower that held my chambers. My head began to grow faint and the itching was terrible, and with a fizzle my will wavered and dropped. Damn! I guess I would have to do this the old fashioned way. I walked up the circular stair to the right, slowly and making as little noise as possible, but my boots didn’t help me any. I came to my chamber door and took the little swirled the bauble around my neck, getting the fluid turning quickly, it began to emanate a purplish glow. I felt for my bangles and readied them, then with a whisper of will unlocked the chamber door.

Someone stood in my chamber. The figure was tall, in a simple white robe and his back was to me but his white hair hung down to nearly his belt and in his left hand he held a white unadorned staff. The door creaked as it pushed in and he whirled around, I could feel the strength of his will almost as an intake of a breath.

I called up my will and yelled, “Bladesunge!” Light flared in my hand and the crack of thunder deafened me as the lightning shot forth and in an instant erupted into blazing cascades of rippling electric energy that flowed out and around a white shining sphere.

I felt the air ripple and my left arm wreathed in fire where the brand lay. I screamed, dropped my staff and fell tearing at my shirt in a frenzy. I gritted my teeth and used every ounce of my will to not start trying to dig the burning brand out of my arm with my fingers. There was nothing I could do, and the sense of it was agony.

“That will be quite enough of that.” The wizard said firmly. “I have half a mind to take that as a blatant disregard for the first law and execute you on the spot. However, I will give you one chance to explain yourself Matthias.”

The voice was old, but familiar. His face had changed since I had first knew him, when we both had been young men eager to do good deeds for mankind and for the Council we believed in. Arthur Langtry had aged just as I had. The Merlin of the White Council stood over me and he seemed more than a bit pissed that I had thrown lightning at him just now. At one time in our lives, I had been able to overpower his shield with that blast, but now he had shaken it off like a man swatting at a mosquito. Either he had grown in power substantially, I had weakened substantially, or both. At this point I’d count on both.

“You…are…in…my…house.” I said through gritted teeth. “Trespassing through my wards, and across my threshold…a guest uninvited.”

“Uninvited you say? Trespassing?” The Merlin looked at me, his ice blue eyes hard. “Whomever has this, if I am of sound mind to remember, has no need of an invitation and may freely pass through your wards…” 

He held up the Celtic knot that blazed with fiery runes. It was the counterpart to the brand on my arm. That knot held my oath, and the runes crackling with energy upon it were telling me a story. They told the Merlin a story as well.

“You have given your oath, upon your power Matthias. This band shows that you have decided to abandon that agreement. How shall we proceed now?”

“I think you can get out of my sanctum and let me go about my business.”

“Now, that is one proposition…hardly one I would have accepted but a proposition none-the-less. Let us start with a questioning then. Why are you in France?”

“To get information.”

“From whom?”

“If you were here to find out what I am doing you would unbind me from the holding. I will promise safe conduct, if you will also observe the guest rite.”

“I need make no such agreement with a law breaker. But, since we were friends once, I will extend this one time courtesy to you. You will then tell me what you are doing here, and then I will decide whether or not to bring you before the Council.”

He rubbed the knot work and whispered something to it and the pain in my arm subsided enough for me to formulate coherent thoughts. I took a second to gather myself and then gave him the story, mostly. Arthur may have been my once friend and ally but wizards don’t tell everything. I gave him the highlights, made sure to explain the part about the Manitou possessed man, but left out Alvares and my promise to give him some lessons. The Merlin wasn’t going to go for that it seemed, and the less he knew about minor talents, the better off they probably were.

“As I told you, I am here at the behest of Coyote.” I said grudgingly. “There is some evil afoot in Arizona with the Navajo and none of your people have showed up to do anything about it. Some damn creature called ‘The One Who Stalks the Mountain’ has captured Changing Woman it seems and has plans to kill some folks called the Ancient ones, or the Elders or some such, and perform a ritual to aggregate their power to its own. Coyote asked, in his way, for my help. Against my better judgement, I took on the task. I was happy living as I was before this. That damn fool dog got me involved in this Arthur. You should take it up with him.”

“Ritual magic can be disrupted. Do you know any more?” He asked.

“No. Why has Joe Listens to Wind not come to the aid of the Navajo?” I asked.

“He is, detained…with other matters.” He commented darkly.

“The Reds I take it.”

The Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of it?” He snapped.

“I have heard whisperings around the community. Some vague details, but it from what I hear, it seems like your people aren’t doing well.”

The Merlin just stood there eyeing me. His face was a mask of stony concentration.

“This matter, can you resolve it?” He asked bluntly.

“Maybe. If I can’t I will be dead most likely.” I replied.

“You will resolve the issue in Arizona, or die in the attempt.” He said with a tone that said he would have no dissent. “If you are alive when the issue resolves, you will come back to this place. I will know when you use the Mirror, and I will be here seven days from now. We will discuss your continued existence at that time. You will have a choice to make Matthias, you will join us, or you will die.”

“Sounds more like an ultimatum than a choice.” I snapped.

“See it as you will, it is all you have. I will give you the interim to resolve the matter and attenuate the binding upon your power. After seven days, the binding will return at full strength cutting you off from your power, at which point you will be unable to come to this place and fulfill your agreement. If that happens the Wardens will then hunt you down as a Warlock. Return to me with the task completed before the binding is restored or you shed your mortal coil at the end of a Warden’s blade.”

“Killed by some damn demon thing, killed by Wardens, or become your White Council lackey…not sure which option is worse.” I replied.

“Choices, choices...choose wisely.” He exhorted. “I have other business to attend to, if I am not here it is because I am doing something useful. Try and take that as an object lesson. Wait for me, do not leave or I will consider your temporary clemency negated and you have heard the rest, no need for me to repeat it.”

The Merlin strode to the far wall, and held his staff to it and it sank in like it was a pool of water. He had disappeared almost completely into the way and he paused for a moment. His head turned ever so slightly in my direction.

“Matthias.” He said softly.

“Arthur.” I responded.

“Good luck. You’re going to need it.” And with that he was gone and the way closed like a ripple in a pond and then vanished. The Merlin didn’t get to be the Merlin by sitting around playing tiddlywinks I guess.

I waited a good five minutes, giving myself time to still my mind and body before starting a purification. I needed to call up some denizens of the Never-never and ritual summoning like the ones I was going to perform were dangerous. They needed perfect concentration, and attunement so that one could control and work the steps necessary to call up and bind a powerful entity. I was going to call up my father. While he was nowhere near a threat for me, I had to contend with the one that he had bound his will to once upon a time. I hoped that it did not come to a contest of wills with that particular personage…that would not be fun at all.

I loped down to the cellar to gather a few materials for the rite, then started the preparation. With any luck, and no more damn delays, I was going to call up dear old Papa and get some answers.


	5. Meetings

I took time to get myself into the right mindset. Seeing Arthur had shaken me up, and knowing that the binding was still in full effect, only stayed for a few days was no comfort. I pushed aside the distractions and did what I had always done when situations looked dire. I blanked my mind of all thoughts. Then bit by bit I built a tower of will, with intention and task, shaped in my mind’s eye like stones. My will was the mortar and these things both large and small that must be done were the stones. I layered them, the largest and most unobtainable at the bottom, knowing that I couldn’t rid myself of them but also knowing that more things must come together to help me understand their shape and scope better. Next I placed down the things that were looming just outside of my immediate reach. Tasks that had to be completed but that were not things I could do at this moment. Then I placed the immediate needs for the ritual I was to perform right at the top. They were the smallest, most easily grasped ideas. 

I looked around at the room I had created in my mind. It was blank except for the small tower of will and idea now sitting in the middle. It was by no means perfect, there were small gaps here and there, but I tested it and foundationally it was sound. It had been nearly a century since I had practiced this specific technique. Right then. Five implements, five points, and a circle of will…I walked slowly up the stairs to the top of the tower. In the center of three concentric rings made of various metals and stones I placed the five foci precisely at each point on the pentacle bounded by a ring on the stone floor. I tried to keep stray thoughts from bouncing around in my head, adding them to the small gaps in the tower as I walked the line placing down the items.

Brandy, expensive, extravagant…and stolen, went on the first corner. Then I opened a box of expensive chocolates and placed one at the second. A gold coin I placed at the third, and at the fourth a piece of canvas cloth. At the fifth I took out a small knife and before placing it made a slow cut on my right palm.

I closed my fist and squeezed out seven drops of blood and only seven onto the bounding circle and closed it with an effort of will and a touch from my left index finger.

I paced the circumference of the summoning and gathered my will. My staff struck the floor in a slow and steady beat as I walked. Slowly I changed the rhythm to beat out the cadence to a song I had sung once upon a time with my family. The staff rang out on stone and the bangles on my arms made a clink chinking sound as they bounced in time to the beat.

In my mind I heard the swell of fiddles and the strum of guitars, I could see the masks and hear the clapping of hands, the whispers of feet gliding across stone and the calling cry of music.

“Les Mardi Gras s'en vient de tout partout, Tout alentour le tour du moyeu,  
Ça passe une fois par an, demandé la charité,“ I sang.

I sang softly at first and built slowly into a crescendo. Then stopped and called out my voice reverberating in the summoning room.

“Alexandre Allerans Cuthbert du Monde!” Three times I called out loudly. “Come forth from the black parade, and join me. Cut-throat du Monde! I summon thee!”

The noise of horns flooded the room, singing and laughing. I could hear the drums and the song of the Mardi Gras. I didn’t open my sight, but I knew if I had, I would have seen all manner of masks and beings dancing and whirling about me. I hadn’t meant to call up the whole parade, I had only meant to draw my father out of it and into my circle. A form slowly materialized in the circle, as the fanfare of the parade died out around me. The buckles of boots and the puff of old pantaloons, a brace of pistols and a cutlass hanging under a gold embroidered navy blue waistcoat appeared as thought a curtain were being raised. Frilly cuffs, then tattooed hands, a beard that was short, neatly cropped and dark black appeared. He wore a necklace similar to the one I wore with a small sphere with a liquid in it that shined and swirled constantly like the center of a galaxy. His moustache was tightly wound and pointed with wax and he wore one earring of blue sapphire. A tricorn hat appeared in his left hand and his hair drawn back into a long pony tail was covered on top by a bound silk scarf of maroon.

His foot swept back and he flourished the cap while bowing deeply and formally to me.

“Alexandre Allerans du Monde, Buccaneer du Rouge Francais at your service.” He said in English with a hint of a French and island patois. “It has been a long time since we have spoken my son.”

His gleaming eyes looked up and met mine. They were like piercing smoldering fires but I didn’t flinch back from them. We had taken our measure very early in life and now he was the servant of someone else, bound to that being. The white council would definitely frown on this type of thing, but hey he was family.

“Matthias…the circle…tis a bit insulting to your Papa...” He tisked at me.

“Oh, my apologies sir, I will get you a fainting couch.” I said flatly.

“You still hold that old grudge. I never taught you to let things like that go did I?”

“You didn’t teach me a damn thing, you left and went off galavanting around the Caribbean, and got yourself killed.”

“I wasn’t killed, I was executed. They are different.” He sniffed.

“Well no matter you ended up dead didn’t you.”

“All the better to watch over you my boy and speak with you whenever you wish. Also, the parade is nice, lots of fun to be had there.” He winked at me.

He looked down at the summoning circle and chuckled. His eyes darted around and he deftly bent at the knees and picked up each item in turn. The canvas he sniffed and frowned at and tossed aside with an air of a dignified man who had been spat at. The knife he looked at and flipped around in his hand some before placing back on the ground.

“A good blade.” He said approvingly. “But alas I cannot take it with me.”

“These though! These I like.” He smiled appreciatively, took the rum and chocolate, and indulged himself for a few minutes, savoring the tastes of the mortal food. The gold coin he slipped deftly into his right pocket. 

“Now my boy, what have you for me? You have found a way to bring me again to pillage and plunder to my heart’s delight?”

“No Papa. That lifestyle went out of style a couple of centuries ago. I need information.”

“Read a book.” He replied sourly.

“I am serious Papa, I need information that you can provide. It is in your area of…occupation at the moment. And that of your bondsman.”

His eyebrow raised at that.

“Veux-tu que je broker a deal with le old Baron?” His voice was low and sinister breaking back into broken French and English as was his habit when he was alive. I had once done similar in another lifetime, but these days I mainly used the modern English. I practiced my other languages from time to time just to keep them from getting rusty but finding people with whom to speak Latin was growing rarer and rarer. The bartender at the John Henry sprang to mind and I smiled. Bartenders…those guys were always dealing in information…

“No. I need information that is all.”

“Have on with it then…” He said his face falling into a pout.

“I need you to find out what is happening in the Hunting Grounds. The Baron’s area is the realm of the dead and I know that his realm does not cross over as such things go, but the nature of his realm and that are similar. There are peoples of the Americas who have had something stolen from them. I need to prove out a few things. First, there are some old beings called ‘Ancient Ones’, second there are Manitous on the move and a being called ‘One Who Stalks the Mountain’ is somehow tied to them…”

“His eyes blazed. Don’t say that name boy!” He hissed. “Are ye daft? Are ye mad? Speak a thing thrice and have it called unto ye. A damned wizard should know better!”

I winced, “Yes, yes, papa. But I had to tell you who I was dealing with.”

“This is dangerous business boy. That ‘thing’ has been about in our realm some. While the fae courts are in turmoil those types of entities come out of hiding and play. Nasty creatures. This is bad juju son. I am bound to the baron but I will find what I can and be back.”

“Thank you Papa.”

“Boy, your arm is ok?” He asked looking at me intently.

“Ah…uh that’s nothing. Just a temporary issue.”

“No boy, that’s a mouth with a hunger that cannot be sated…if I were you, I would get rid of whatever is doing that to you…” He said somberly.

“I will Papa, I now release you to your task, come back to me tomorrow…”

“I am bound by your will to do so my boy. Your intent will draw me. Give me time though, and I will ferret out what you need.”

“I don’t have much time Papa, you have to be quick.”

“Things are what they are my boy, I will give my best account.” He said flourishing the hat and was gone.

I ambled about my tower for hours trying to order things here and there. I dusted and swept off cobwebs from most of a century of disuse. I found cracks and nests of things that I would have to, at some point, clean out. Owls and cats had kept most of the larger vermin at bay, that’s a good practice. Wizards and witches always seem to have some sort of familiar about in old folklore. What that folklore didn’t tell you was that cats and other predators were actually quite practical to have around for a wizard. We tended to collect books, tomes, volumes, manuscripts, scrolls and the like and all of those were quite fragile and prone to be eaten by vermin like rats and mice. They loved to get in there and shred up the paper or parchment or papyrus or what have you and make nests out of it. Take my word for it, I lost an extremely valuable manuscript at one point. The spell that I had needed to reassemble that particular tome, so that I could transcribe the notes, was particularly expensive and time consuming. I tried to ward most of my libraries these days because of that, but in any case cats and owls were good friends.

I took leave of my chambers and clambered down the spiral stair to the ground level. I recited the old incantation that allowed the tower wards to drop long enough to let me out onto the surrounding lawn. It was November in northern France and I hadn’t quite dressed for the chilly weather, but a quick look around should be fine. I surveyed the edifice protruding up out of the hilltop, and I had the feeling that Tolkien had seen my tower when he wrote about Orthanc. My tower was definitely here during world war one but would have been shrouded by the wards and veils that I and my family had laid over it for the last half millennia. There are always tales about mortals wandering into places they weren’t supposed to be however, and someone could have wandered in and gotten a gander. Typically in the old stories they met some sort of fey creature or wizard or demi god that wasn’t too happy with the intrusion and the tale ended unhappily for most. Those aren’t the ones that get written about though. They are the warning signs, the dead adventurers and piles of bones that lined the path of the protagonist in those old tales on the way to the sinister places that heroes must go to fulfill their journey.

As I walked I took stock of the barrier wall and topiary hedges. They were carved into different shapes many being guardian animals and some mythological figures. I had, over a century ago, taken a page out of the White Council’s book and created constructs that detected magical and supernatural power. They would respond in a similar manner to the Fu constructs that Ancient Mai employed. The topiary was quite overgrown now, a few of the old shapes were still more or less intact, but I would need to trim them and renew them. They had sit idle for far too long and I am sure that there was no magic left in…one of the topiary guardians moved. It was a slow tracking movement, the overgrown lion’s mane turned almost imperceptibly as it stood watch over the stone and iron wall that surrounded my tower. There was something outside and the guardian had noticed it. If the guardian had seen it, that meant that whatever it was had gotten though the veil. I may have left things untended for far too long around here.

I could add things to my to-do list later, for the moment I was more interested in what the topiary guardian was sensing. The arrhythmic click of sleet began ticking on the stones that made up the path on which I stood and the benches that were placed in a circular fashion in the garden. I shivered from the cold, but not only the cold. There was something prickling my senses. I drew in a breath and called up my sensorium. There was something definitely outside of the wall. I quested spreading out my senses…and the wall thirty feet in front of me exploded. The sound was like a freight train hitting a brick wall and shook the air. I dropped immediately old instincts from many battles and old habits kicking in and sending me into danger mode. I scrambled over to the nearest cover, in this case one of the stone benches.

“Geezus does nobody knock anymore?” I muttered and took a couple of quick peeks.

One side of the old wall around my tower had collapsed in sending the hedge and topiary guardians that stood at intervals behind it, into a shower of dust and debris with leaves slowly falling like confetti at the Time Square at the New Year’s ball drop. Something was laying in the yard, climbing back to its, well what passed for, feet slowly. The thing looked like a cross between several animals, a moose, a porcupine, a wolverine, and a human. The thing I was looking at was something I had only heard about in old horror stories around the campfire. It wavered for a moment righting itself and the skull-like horned head swiveled slowly around surveying the area, deep purple and blue eldritch light, like small dying embers in its hollow eye sockets.

Tingles of fear rolled up and down my spine as I peered at the creature, hunched over in the unmistakable coil of a predator ready to pounce. The creature had odd reverse articulated legs with hooves like a deer but crouched like an ape with long emaciated arms dangling and resting knuckles down on the grass in the courtyard. There was a fine confetti of falling leaves and a thin cloud of dust hanging in the air all-around, where it had burst through the wall and the hedge. This thing was a legend and a nightmare from the oral traditions of several Native American tribes. The Wendigo was once a human who had become evil and succumbed to cannibalism and was possessed by something dark and malicious. It delighted in the flesh of humans and the suffering of those it meant to devour. They were normally smaller, normally easier to kill or so I had heard. Typically the tribes that had encountered Wendigo would kill them quickly because to not do so would mean obliteration for the tribe and gruesome deaths for many. Was this the entity ‘The One Who Stalks the Mountain’? How had it found me, in France of all places?

It had to have opened a Way, but that would mean that it was hunting me before I left Nevada…that was a disturbing thought. My home in Nevada had wards, and a threshold because I had lived there for some three decades, but I wasn’t the greatest at making wards and since I had been under my oath to restrict my magical usage to what amounted to a leaky faucet, I wasn’t able to do much more than layer a sting into them. There was no way my Nevada residence would keep out anything in the weight class of this beast. The wards around the tower were much stronger, layered by many practitioners in my family over centuries. The veil around it would keep most mortals out, but damn if it didn’t have a gaping defense flaw. Apparently a Way from the Never-never could be opened right inside the veil and allow any sort of baddies to waltz right on in. 

The spattering and tinkling of ice pellets striking the stone path was now constant and a roll of thunder peeled off in the distance. This was the dry season around Metz and it was abnormal for sleet and thunder…but certain beings had the ability to use magic as well and it seemed like the Wendigo could affect the weather.

I noted that away for future reference and as I did the glowing eyes locked on the garden. I had paused taking it all in and hadn’t ducked back down in time before it swept its eyes back in my direction. I felt like a rabbit under a hawk’s shadow. I stood stock still for an instant, and the skull like mouth dropped open into a sickening howling gurgle and it lunged forward. It cleared the courtyard in three large bounds like a deer and shot up faster than I could flinch.

As it fell toward me, I drew in my will and shouted. “Bladesunge!”

Light erupted and a clap of thunder borne of fear and panic lanced forward catching the wendigo dead center. The creature jerked like it had been hit with a giant club and flew backward landing in a heap against the outer wall. I didn’t gloat, I didn’t cheer, I just ran. I ran for the tower door hoping that I could make it in time. Behind me I heard the clop, clop of two giant hooves bounding over the stone path and a growl. I poured will into my limbs and lept forward into a spinning roll that would land me facing the creature. I called up a wall of raw force in front of me hoping the creature had pounced.

It had. I gave a wicked grin. “Come and get it.”

The wendigo hit my shield with a purple white ripple, and as it did I loosed the will I had been holding in the shield.

“Deflexio!” I screamed and changed the shield from a wall to a pushing force, one which I had aimed slightly up and away. The wendigo stumbled forward off balance and I flattened myself to the ground. The wall of force hit it like a wrecking ball, flinging it up and over me into the wall of the tower. 

The wendigo hit the wards of the tower and light sparked like a fourth of July fireworks festival. It howled as it's smoking form was hurtled away from the tower’s warded sides and back down into the courtyard. It did a liquid-like twist and landed in a crouch that tore furrows in the grass and hard frozen earth. It skidded across the lawn and wrecked a couple of stone benches that had, to my knowledge, been carved in the 14th century by an artisan long forgotten by history. There was a growling, grinding sound emanating from the creature and a faint pulse of energy.

I hadn’t waited to see where it would land, I was up and moving before it hit the ground. I yelled the spell that would allow me to pass the wards and dove into the protection of the tower. A blast of air like a hurricane hit me just before I made the door and swept me to my right landing me painfully on my side. I tried to roll with it, but I didn’t time it right and my shoulder flared pain across my body and I slid for a while across the sleet covered yard. Precipitation fell onto my face as I lay stunned for a moment. There was a crunching sound moving more cautiously toward me this time. Looks like that deflection stunt was a trick Bullwinkle wasn’t going to let me pull off a second time. I really hate it when I have to face monsters that have some brains… Had I been thinking and not out of practice, I could have reversed the force again earlier and held the wendigo against the sizzling energy of the wards, either until I gave out and had no will left to hold it there, or until resembled a fried, hideously deformed, moose-like chicken.

I moved back to my feet, and instinctively felt for my gun…which I had conveniently left behind, in some ironic lapse of judgement on my part. I had left my staff inside the tower, but I had my bracer and my necklace, I wasn’t totally useless; although I was going to have to do more practice prep for not leaving my fighting implements behind…what the hell was I doing? I must have been getting the wizard equivalent of senility or something. The wendigo leaped and bounded twice, short clouds of frost kicking up behind its hooves and it bellowed it’s fury at me as it rushed. I planted my feet in a stance I had learned long ago when being attacked when unarmed. Some of this stuff I still kept around in the old thinker. The first strike came low and fast meaning to impale me but I gave a tap to the spindly limb tipped with vicious six inch claws and twisted away, and it passed me scoring my shirt as it did. I was getting slow, this wasn’t going to last very long and I would end up a blood stained slab of meat on the whitening ground.

I grabbed the sickeningly stretched skin of the wendigo’s arm in a flash and pointed my left arm at the opposite leg. “Lariata!” I said and rolled with the swipe that was coming from the other arm. It hit me hard nonetheless and threw me over the other arm, but the ghostly lariat whipped around its leg and then at my intention writhed around the arm I had just flown over. The blow hurt and sent me skidding away from the creature and out into the circle in the garden. I landed past the shattered pieces of bench. Better than I had hoped.

The creature writhed and bucked trying to get out of the ghostly chords, but I shook the lariat up and down calling to it to “Forbinde, Forbinde, Forbinde!” And the coils secured one leg, then another, then the arm, then the head. The wendigo was about as hog-tied as I could make him and I was running low on juice. My head was swimming and I wouldn’t be able to hold the spell much longer. The bastard was big and heavy, but lucky for me that he had slicked up the ground with all that sleet real nice so that I could pull him over to me.

“Now, I know you may not know who I am…a lot of people don’t these days. But let me tell you something you pieced together trash heap, I am not a mere conjurer of cheap fucking tricks. You and your stalking ass are done. Come back to my domain at your own peril…”

I grabbed my necklace in my right hand and felt the power swathe over me.

“Gravitas.” I said flatly, and the ground indented where the wendigo lay. 

I walked in a circle about it chanting softly, “Ventas,” as I cleared the stone circle in the middle of the garden, the one that had been hidden under grass and now a layer of white. As John Constantine would say, this bastard was about to get deported.

“The circle…” It spoke. It was like metal scraping on concrete and it crawled up my spine. I shook the voice away. “Send me back to my master mortal. I will tell him about you…as was my mission.”

A creaking gravelly laugh left the thing as it lay pinned to the ground.

“I don’t think you get what this circle does, ugly. This circle won’t send you back to the Never-never…”

The cold purple eye lights locked onto me. I thought I felt it flinch. Then it pitched its head backward and I swear the jaw clacked open and closed in a laugh that looked like Skeletor from the old He-Man cartoon. The eye lights swiveled back to me, the jaw still hinging open and closed with that creaking laughter and some sub-audible pulsing that I felt more than heard.

I realized what was about to happen, maybe too late. 

“Oh shit!” I breathed and ran. 

My legs hurt, my back hurt, my head hurt, but I ran as hard as my feet would take me across the hard packed slippery ground. I wasn’t going to make it. I uttered the words to drop the wards for an instant as I meant to pass through. And the wendigo erupted into purple black flame throwing me forward in a tumble. I passed through the wards, and didn’t die, thankfully, but the blast singed my clothes and my vision was stars as I hit the marble floor of the tower. I slid through the entry way and into the foyer spilling sleet particles from my hair and clothes as I went.

I chanced a look through the door and saw a charred husk and crater where the wendigo had been in the middle of the circle. Sleet had been melted away for twenty feet or more in every direction. I was definitely going to have to repair that circle, tomorrow. For the moment I was safe behind the threshold and wards of the tower again. This was getting out of hand. The next time I saw Coyote, I was going to slug him in the mouth.


	6. Update

Everyone who has actually read this and anyone subscribed many thanks for reading. I was working on chapter 6 when I was diagnosed with cancer. It has been hard to focus on the story in the last month and the determination was made that my cancer is in stage 4 the other day, so I have been dealing with that. I plan to keep writing, as it will help me going forward, but currently I have had a life changing distraction. Again thank you to those who read my chapters and I do plan to finish this, but it may take me longer than I had first anticipated.


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